Shatter me
by maxwellandlovelace
Summary: What if Dorian hadn't been able to completely stop the arrow at the end of Heir of Fire?
1. The first day

**A/N:** I'm back writing fanfic again. It's my first ToG fic so be gentle with me. My wonderful friend Pikelet184 betaed this for me. Remaining mistakes are mine.

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_**Chaol**_

The former Captain of the Royal Guard was not ready to die. Ever since they'd brought him to his cell there was one thing—one _person_—keeping him alive.

Dorian.

His name had become a mantra. Repeated every time Chaol forced the food down his throat. Drank the water. He wanted—no, he _needed_ to know that everything had not been in vain.

Dorian was the sole reason Chaol was still clinging to the life of the living. His magic had managed to knock the arrow off its path toward Chaol's heart, but not miss him completely, the festering wound in his shoulder serving as a reminder.

Terrified, he'd watched the King lock the collar around Dorian's neck, his screams still echoing off the walls of the cell. If the guards hadn't held him down, Chaol would've run to Dorian, taking his friend's place. Because watching the Valg prince taking hold of Dorian, extinguishing the life in those sapphire eyes, was a sight that would haunt Chaol until the day they'd sever his head from his body. But he hadn't. He'd failed him, yet again.

But he couldn't let go. Not yet. One sign was all he needed. One sign that Dorian might recover. Maybe it was a childish dream, but he craved it so much he could almost taste it. And when he did, he would give in to the fate that he deserved. He'd sacrifice everything for him. His Crown Prince. His King.

_Dorian._

Chaol needed to know that he was still there, fighting the possession. If he could only see that, it all would've been worth it. He'd become a coward. A liar. A traitor. And he would do it all again if it meant that Dorian still had a fighting chance. But seeing that malicious blackness seep into Dorian's eyes had sucked the life out of Chaol. A punch to the gut of which he still felt the aftershock. Pain radiating from his shoulder, out to the tips of his being, and back again, through the veins of his body. To his heart.

Time had become unimportant, a fleeting concept, serving no purpose for the damned. All he knew now was darkness. Not the welcoming kind, the one embracing you as you curled down under the blanket with… a loved one. No, this was the kind that brought your worst nightmares back to life, the kind that made you wonder if you were even still alive, or if this was a sick punishment from a greater deity, making you pay for all of your sins.

But it didn't matter.

Chaol knew the stone floor was cold, but he barely felt it. There was no energy left in him to care. To do anything other than lie down. To wait. For food. A beating. For death. There was no reason for him to be alive. With Dorian gone, he no longer filled a purpose. He'd betrayed the crown, was disowned by his father. Now he was only a nuisance, taking up a cell, eating, breathing, distracting guards that could do something more important.

A sliver of light peeked through the door that slowly opened, forcing Chaol to cover his eyes, the joints in his good shoulder snapping as he did. Carefully, Chaol moved his hand. The brightness blinded him but he compelled himself to look up. The stubbornness to not let them see that they had defeated him made Chaol command his head to face his visitor. It wasn't a guard. No armor. Only a tunic and black pants. Dark hair.

And a black collar.

"Dorian." His voice was hoarse after not speaking since… Since… Was he really here? _Why_ was he here?

He didn't speak, only stepped into the cell. The light behind him surrounded him like an aura and made him look like an angel. Maybe he was. Yes, he definitely was.

"Dorian," Chaol whispered again.

The tiny fragment of hope surging through Chaol the moment he saw Dorian was crushed the second the prince opened his mouth. "Captain." The voice was monotone, revealing no emotion. Valg. But Chaol savored it anyway. It had been too long since he'd heard his voice, and he wanted more. He would live and die all over again for this moment. In the not-so-distant future when they finally decided to kill him, this would be the moment before his eyes, etched in his brain.

It was useless, but he pleaded anyway. "Please." He crawled over to Dorian, gently placing his fingers on his feet, surrendering to the prince's mercy. "Please, let him go. I'll do anything."

Dorian slowly lifted his right foot, placing it close to Chaol's chin to tilt his head up. His eyes locked onto Chaol's, keeping him in place better than any chain could. Chaol's muscles relaxed. So much that when the foot forcefully shoved him away he didn't have time to brace himself. Before he knew it, he was on his back with Dorian standing next to his head, looking down on him. "You give yourself way too much credit, Captain. What difference do you think _you'd_ make? A human."

Of course, the prince was right. Thinking he could make any difference was foolish. Conspiring with the rebels. A naive boy thinking he could save the world, and now he was drowning in his own arrogance. And the only person he'd ever truly cared about was gone. Standing before him. But gone.

Dorian sat on his haunches, finally letting Chaol get a look at his face. Stoic. Jaw clenched. Nothing blue left in those black eyes. No reason to believe that there was anything other than a demon inside him. Still, it was the most beautiful thing Chaol had ever seen.

"Dorian. Show me something. Anything. And I'll let go."

Nothing. There was nothing there. Only the blank stare of a shell of a man. Chaol didn't resist when Dorian grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the wound in his shoulder. It was only patched up to prevent him from bleeding out. Ripping off the bandaid, Dorian plunged a finger into the hole that the arrow had left. Chaol couldn't contain the cry erupting from him, and he screamed as white exploded in front of his eyes. As his friend twisted his finger, curled it. Every movement was a bolt of lightning, shooting the intense pain throughout Chaol's body. Tears ran down his cheeks, heat flared, and the pounding in his head was the only thing Chaol could hold on to, to not pass out. When he started to shiver, he knew that this agony was the worst he'd ever felt. Then it disappeared.

Unceremoniously, Chaol was pulled up to his feet and shackled to the chains fastened to the wall. The iron cuffs gnawed at his wrists but Chaol welcomed it. Anything to distract him from what he knew was about to happen.

The sinister smile spreading on Dorian's lips was worse than anything Chaol could ever have imagined. He'd been trained for this, for pushing through the physical pain, but his friend enjoying being the cause of it… It wasn't really Dorian, he knew that, but the image in front of him told a different story. Separating reality from imagination became more difficult as Dorian—_no, not Dorian_—pulled out a knife. Chaol hadn't seen it on him as he entered the cell, yet there it was. Dorian trailed the edge along Chaol's cheek, the one already scarred from another mistake. Blood trickled down Chaol's neck, soaking his torn tunic.

Chaol shut his eyes, willing away the image.

"It doesn't help, Captain," he taunted, drawing out the last word. In an instant his mouth was only an inch from Chaol's ear, his breath tickling his skin. "Open your eyes." Chaol didn't. "Open your eyes or I'll carve your eyelids off," he hissed.

So Chaol did. He forced himself to watch as his friend dragged the knife along his body. The blood pooled at his feet, sticking to his bruised skin. Finally, when he deemed himself finished, Dorian tossed the knife in the air. It made a full turn before landing in his hand again. With his gaze still locked on Chaol, he jammed the knife through his leg. Pain exploded from Chaol's thigh, and the guttural scream from his throat bounced off the walls, intensifying it by the hundreds. But it couldn't drown out the screams in his mind. Telling him to end this, whatever way possible. It will only get worse.

Chaol's throat ached, but he forced himself to speak. "Why?" he croaked. "What do you want?"

"Oh, you're mistaken. What could you possibly have that I want? No, Captain Westfall, I'm merely enjoying myself. You know, passing the time."

This was his punishment then. He'd left his childhood home, abandoned his family and responsibilities, betrayed his country, failed his only friend. All for a dream that was now shattering before his eyes.

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**A/N:** Come talk to me on tumblr! I'm maxwellandlovelace.


	2. The second day

**A/N:** To everyone who's reading; thank you!

My friend, Pikelet184, betated this for me! You're the best!

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_**Chaol**_

His hair had grown longer, and as the sweat dried it stuck to his forehead. He'd gotten used to sleeping on the hard floor by now. Really, it didn't take that long. As Captain of the Guard, he slept when he could, where he could, and that was not always in a warm bed.

Two people stood at the door as it opened, but Chaol's eyes immediately went to Dorian.

He didn't know how long it had been since Dorian was here the last time, and, on instinct, Chaol's spirit lifted at the sight of his best friend. But the dark eyes and black collar pushed his thoughts back to the brutal reality.

As he searched Dorian's face for any signs of… _Dorian_, the other man grabbed him and shackled him to the wall, iron digging into his wrists. He welcomed it. The pain.

"Dorian," he whispered, his best friend's name the only thing keeping him sane. The only reason he even tried anymore.

"He's gone, Captain," the prince said, the coldness in his friend's voice was impossible to reconcile with the warmth and kindness Chaol had always associated with Dorian. The contrast confused him, ripped him apart.

"No. Please… Let it..." He couldn't finish the sentence, and he looked away. Watching that face that had previously only held affection and compassion was torture. Because now, the only thing Chaol saw was death. Blackness. It killed him, more than any sword would.

The prince grabbed his chin, forcing Chaol to face him. "Let it _what_?" he demanded. It was Dorian's voice, but at the same time... not. The conflicting emotions battled in his brain, giving him a headache.

"Let it be worth it," he managed to get out, not for the Valg prince, not for himself, but maybe… maybe Dorian would hear him and know that Chaol had not abandoned him. Everything and everyone else, yes, but not Dorian. Never Dorian.

Dorian took his other hand, pushing Chaol's hair away from his forehead. It was so close to something Dorian—the _real_ Dorian—might have done, that for a moment, a brief second, Chaol closed his eyes, revelling in the touch of his best friend. The only person he had ever trusted sifted his fingers through his hair, and, only for a moment, Chaol let himself imagine another time. Another place. Where he could enjoy this touch.

_Dorian's fingers brushed his forehead. "Chaol," he whispered. "Roland's a piece of shit, and Lithaen is a fool with poor judgment."_

_He knew that, but it didn't help. It still hurt. This had been his chance to finally move on. Move on from the sting in his heart every time yet another woman left Dorian's chambers. Hell, who's the piece of shit _now_? He deserved this. The pain that he felt now, and would be for a long time. He deserved it. All of it._

"_No." Dorian's voice interrupted his self-pity. "I know what you're doing, and it's not your fault."_

_Oh, but it was. He was at as much fault as Lithaen was. She had realized that he'd never love her the way that she wanted or deserved, the way he loved Dorian. Who was _he _to blame _her _for finding someone else? Chaol had used her. He was the one at fault in this situation, not her. He had led her on, making her believe that he loved her. In a way, he did, yet his heart didn't belong to her._

_But he couldn't tell Dorian that. So he let him believe the tears were for her, not Dorian. For what Chaol knew he would never have. Another sob escaped his throat, and Dorian embraced him, letting Chaol rest his head on his chest. And for only one second Chaol let himself imagine it was real._

With a jerk of his hair, Chaol was quickly yanked back to reality, the demon-prince in front of him sneering as he could read Chaol's thoughts. He held Chaol's hair in a tight fist, locking his gaze with Chaol's. Despite the demon lurking in there, Chaol still imagined he could see the depth in the prince's expression. That depth only contained darkness, but yet, it was still there. The punch to his stomach came unexpected and it took Chaol's breath away, but the shackles kept him from instinctively crouching over.

"You do know that treason in punishable by death?" the prince said, as Chaol caught his breath.

"What's taking you so long?" Chaol choked out, forcing his gaze to his feet. His chin was jerked upward, forcing his face a mere ince from Dorian. No. There was nothing there.

"Finally! Some personality. _Now_ you want to die? Where was this eagerness to the afterlife before you fucked up this city? _Your_ city. _Your_ country."

The shame of Chaol's betrayal made his heart ache. Acid cursed through his veins and smoke grated his lungs. He'd thought he'd done the right thing. But everything had backfired when he'd forced his best friend to expose his magic to the king. He might as well have locked the collar around Dorian's neck himself. He could blame whoever he wanted but deep down he knew that he was the root cause of what was happening right now.

This time, the sight of the prince's knife didn't catch Chaol by surprise. The last time he was here he'd cut shallow lines all over Chaol's arms and torso. They were not near deep enough to be life-threatening, but Chaol would never forget the sharp pain every time the cold metal had pierced his skin. The remnants of the prince's treatment were scabbing and Chaol knew that if they'd let him live longer they'd eventually scar.

The tip of the dagger slowly pressed into the wound on his thigh. Inch by painful inch, the prince pushed and twisted it to cause the maximum amount of damage. As much as Chaol had trained for enduring this type of pain, he couldn't contain the guttural cry erupting from his throat. He didn't know how long the prince had been at it when he deemed himself finished with Chaol's thigh for the moment. The blood pulsed out of the open wound, the warm liquid running down his leg. Chaol hoped the prince had hit an artery so that he'd bleed out here and now. He'd thought he could survive this, but he couldn't.

Dorian trailed the tip of his knife along the marks he'd created last time. The edge following the same path as before, ending only an inch from his heart.

_Chaol gently pressed the tip of his wooden sword against Dorian's chest, right above his heart. He was lying back down in the grass of the training grounds right outside the castle. "You still leave your left side unguarded when you strike."_

_Dorian just grinned, not seeming to care that he lost. Instead, he swatted Chaol's sword away, and Chaol offered his hand to pull him up. "Yes, mother," he said, smiling, as he brushed the dirt off his tunic._

_Pointing at the prince with his sword, Chaol only said, "Ass."_

"_Oh, but a nice piece of ass."_

"_Yes, I'm sure all the ladies agree," Chaol deadpanned, glancing up to the women standing on the castle wall, observing the Crown Prince and Chaol sparring. They'd been at it for over an hour and the sun was unforgiving, heating their bodies so not only were their loose clothing was clinging to them but the sweat was dripping from both their foreheads._

"_Hmm? I didn't notice."_

"_Right…" Chaol pushed the thought from his mind. It really was hot today. So he pulled the sweat-soaked shirt over his head and swiped some of the sweat away. "You ready to go again?"_

_Dorian did the same, removing the loose tunic and revealing his muscled chest. "Bring it, Cap."_

_He didn't like that. Chaol hadn't earned the title yet, and Dorian taunting him with it only made matters worse. Knowing that Dorian already saw him as the Captain of the Guard filled Chaol with such pride, but he didn't want to disappoint him either, which was what he would do if he failed._

_But boy did Chaol bring it. It was the only thing keeping his mind in check. To focus on anything but the color of Dorian's eyes, the sweat glistening along his arms, hands… He shoved those thoughts away, losing himself in the training. Pushing himself, focusing on the task at hand instead of ogling_ _Dorian's well-sculpted body._

_Dorian was an excellent swordsman, but Chaol was older and better trained, not to mention the amount of extra training required from the guards serving in the palace. Dorian held his own against Chaol but after a couple of minutes, Chaol had managed to disarm him and placing his mock sword against Dorian's throat._

"_Change hands," was the only thing he said. Being ambidextrous was a strength Dorian didn't even know he possessed. But Chaol had noticed, and he took advantage when he could. He knew Dorian favored his left hand, but being able to use both hands was a gift that Chaol wanted to hone. If the time came, it could possibly save his life, and Chaol wanted Dorian to make that switch instinctively._

_Reluctantly, Dorian changed sword hands. "Afraid I'm getting too good for you?"_

"_Maybe," Chaol said, again lunging himself at Dorian. He deflected most of Chaol's strikes, but since his right hand was not Dorian's strong suit he ended up with his back against the ground and Chaol's sword against his throat once again._

_The sigh from his Crown Prince hit him hard. "How will I ever get taken seriously if I keep falling down on my ass?"_

Oh. "_I didn't… That was not my intention, Dorian." Chaol threw his wooden sword in the ground. He'd forgotten that even though they were friends, they were not equals. Dorian was his Prince, his superior. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it." He was such a sucker for this man, and he didn't even care. If Dorian wanted to have a sword fight in front of the entire court, Chaol would gladly lose against him if that's what Dorian wanted._

"_Don't." He got up, pointing his sword toward Chaol. "If I'd wanted to win, I'd pick anyone else in the guard. I want to learn. I'm frustrated with myself, not you."_

_That. Right there. There was the Dorian Chaol knew and loved. That will to always learn and improve. To be a better man. And of all the guards, he'd chosen Chaol._

"_Okay, then." Chaol picked up his sword. "Again. I won't go easy this time," he said, smiling, as he lunged for Dorian as soon as he was on his feet again. And he didn't, but Dorian held his own far longer than the prince ever gave himself credit for. _

_It wasn't until the sun was setting that Chaol was again reminded of their status. They were friends, but it still tugged at his heart when the retiring Captain approached them. He had his hand on his heart as he looked to the prince, not acknowledging Chaol. "Your Highness. His Majesty requests your presence."_

_Dorian's shoulders slumped. Not appropriate for a royal, but Chaol didn't care and the Captain didn't comment. "And what if I refuse?" he asked jokingly, but Chaol suspected there was more weight behind the question than Dorian let on._

_The Captain froze. "I…" he hesitated, seemingly unsure of how to answer._

_But before he could finish the sentence, Dorian continued, "Never mind." He pulled on his discarded tunic, the soft fabric clinging to his sweaty skin. His gaze found Chaol's as the Crown Prince handed him his practice sword and trailed the Captain toward the castle. _

_Chaol watched the two walk along the castle wall, the lingering looks of the ladies still there following the young prince's every move. A lump formed in Chaol's throat, but he swallowed it down as he gathered his own clothing and the swords he'd brought. He both enjoyed and dreaded the time he got to spend with Dorian. His wits, his intelligence, his kindness. It was a blessing. But the torture of not being completely honest with Dorian and feeling that their friendship was not enough for Chaol was a steady and unpleasant reminder. And the day Dorian found someone to spend his life with was a day Chaol feared he might not survive._

How naive he'd been. Believing that Dorian marrying was the worst thing that could happen to him. He'd gladly trade that for what was standing here before him today. He'd give anything for that, including his life.

The prince's procedure was similar to the last time. The dagger slicing the skin across Chaol's torso, reopening the semi-healed wounds.

When Chaol thought the blood loss would claim his consciousness the prince stopped, the blessing of passing out just outside Chaol's grasp.

He'd thought he could do it. Hold on. Hold on for Dorian. He had tried, but in the end, he wasn't strong enough for this either. He closed his eyes, tried to find the last bit of strength in him and threw his head back against the wall.

The sharp pain from the back of his skull was a cruel awakening. He'd failed. Again. He couldn't even kill himself. "Just do it," he croaked. Chaol's legs gave out, the shackles around his wrists was the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the floor. The prince didn't seem to react, but Chaol forced himself to look at Dorian. To plead for any type of mercy left in his best friend. The tears in his eyes blurred his vision, the features of Dorian's face mixing with the background, his hair indistinguishable from the wall behind him. Chaol drew a breath and whispered his selfish request. "Kill me."

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**A/N:** You can also come talk to me on tumblr: maxwellandlovelace.


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